Beauty of the Broken Angel
by pluviophile
Summary: Clary Fairchild is a sixteen year old girl trying to win a battle with leukemia, her final chapter already laid out in front of her. She soon finds that mysterious boy Jace Wayland is picking up the pieces of her broken life. But Clary doesn't want him to be hurt when she dies so she pushes him away. But try as she might, Jace just happens to push back...
1. Sunlight on a cloudy day

****I don't own the characters of The Mortal Instruments or plot line at all. I'm borrowing the characters and will return them safely. The story line of this fanfiction belongs to pluviophile 2013, and please do not recopy or take idea without asking.****

_Author's Note: Hello there. I've come to the conclusion that I must write another story for this archive because this fandom simply rocks. I take fault for all mistakes or grammatical errors. I also happen to be super excited of this story, and I hope that you all like it._

**_I also 'updated' this story, re-editing this chapter a bit so it should sound a lot better. okay._**

* * *

In the heart of Indiana, in a small house, sat a very sad girl. There was a strange look in her dull green eyes as she stared blankly; the light that used to be there was replaced with unresponsiveness. The spark just disappeared. All it took for her to fade away and recede into her shell was a doctor's appointment a year prior to this very day. Clary sat on her bed, staring gloomily at the opposite wall, her eyes unseeing. Sure, she saw the wall and the loud white color, but she wasn't really looking at it. Her whole world seemed to be crumbling to pieces. Jonathon was off in his room, and her mother was painting. Every one of her family members were tuned out from the rest of society, just lingering in their home quietly like a couple of field mice. It was like the Fairchild family just fell off the face of the earth. Clary blinked subconsciously before she sighed and lay on her bed, a look of utter defeat on her face. Her fingers carefully maneuvered to her small, skinny arm and lightly touched the dark spots on her skin. Clary looked away rapidly, squinting her eyes before squeezing them shut; maybe if she willed herself to disappear long enough she would. But the world is not a wish granting factory and that didn't happen.

It started with bruises. Her mother just about had a heart attack when her daughter woke up one day and she had dark splotches over her arms. They were completely noticeable due to the fact that her skin was a ghastly pale already, and the fact that she was wearing a tank top didn't help any. But Jocelyn had always been a worrier, after all, that was part of the job description when it came to being a mother, so Clary thought nothing of it. She and her brother Jonathon must've been rough housing too much. So she stopped exerting herself so hard when it came to physical activities. But the bruises continued to spread down her arms and that's when the worried Jocelyn finally took her daughter to the doctors. When the doctors announced that it was indeed leukemia that attacked Clary. The Fairchild family was stunned into silence.

The next months went by with utter dread, rushing Clary to and from the hospital as she battled with chemotherapy and having to puke out her guts every moment. But she carried on without a complaint, no matter how hard it seemed to get for her to carry on. Even when her hair began falling out, leaving her with a shiny bald head, Clary didn't utter a word of complaint; she kept quiet. She quickly receded into her own shell, choosing to stay away from her classmates and the rest of her friends. Her mother never pressured her decisions, and Jocelyn supported the fact that Clary wanted to be reclusive for the time being, home-schooling her. Clary depended on Jonathon to give her the latest scoop on what was going on at school since she chose not to go. Clary didn't regret her choice. Sure, she was bitterly sad at the fact that she wouldn't be able to see her friends on an everyday basis, but she didn't want them to see her in the current state she was. Clary knew she could die at any point, and she didn't want to hurt those around her. But honestly, like Jonathon always said, it didn't hurt to get some sun once in awhile…

**.o.O.o.**

"Rise and shine little sis!" the booming voice jolted Clary from her sleep, and the girl sat up, almost shooting out of bed from the terror that she felt in that moment. Everything was aggravatingly loud, and she hissed involuntarily as soon as the light flooded into her vision. Clary delved back to her bed, her mattress encompassing around her as she sank back into the pillows, throwing her blanket over her head in a feeble attempt to block out the sunshine.

"Go away Jonathon," Clary whined, her voice muffled by the covers. She needed sleep. Her doctor always said sleep fights cancer. Maybe if she told that to Jonathon, he would understand and leave her alone. "Sleep fights cancer!" she heard him laugh quietly to himself before Clary felt the blankets being yanked off her, and she shivered, clawing at them but Jonathon just laughed, his dark eyes nearly inches from hers.

"You've used that on me countless times, and I'm sorry, but it doesn't work anymore Clare-Bear." His happy voice plus the childhood nickname he gave her caused Clary to pop an eye open as she stared at Jonathon quietly, taking in the sight of her brother whom she always had a soft spot for.

There he stood, in all his glory, wearing a white, long-sleeved button down shirt and some dark black jeans. His pale blonde hair fell haphazardly into his dark eyes, and a wide smile was thrown onto his face as he helped his younger sister sit up in bed. Clary felt instantly dizzy, and the world suddenly began to spin. She debated falling back onto her bed, but then, she felt a gentle hand pressed against her back. Upon opening her eyes after a moment, she saw her brother's face in front of hers. His eyebrows were knit together in sincere concern, and his voice softened.

"Whoa, you alright?" he asked her, rubbing small circles on her back as his other hand entwined with hers. Clary squeezed her eyes shut, crinkling her nose as she managed to shake her head back and forth slightly. She was afraid if she talked or breathed through her mouth all her food would just come back up and spill onto her blankets. That would be the third time this week and it was only Tuesday. Jonathon didn't hesitate as he spoke up again, trying to calm his younger sister down. "It's okay… just take deep breaths." With Jonathon's words of reassurance, Clary was able to calm down a bit and get the world to stop moving from underneath her. She blinked and finally opened her eyes to stare at her brother who knelt in front of her, eyes wide.

She blinked, trying to take in everything. Before she had leukemia, Clary was able to asses where she was and what was going on astoundingly fast, but afterwards her mind seemed slow and sluggish, making her forget easily. Her strength was at its bare minimum as she blinked away her sleep. Her room was still her room with its loud, yellow walls and orange curtains. Everything seemed in order with the exception of a couple days' outfits lying haphazardly on the ground, strewn across the room carelessly. Sighing slightly, Clary let out a puff of air and turned back to her brother.

"I… I think I'm alright," Clary said after a moment, nodding her head as she forced a convincing smile onto her face. She winced; her mouth tasted liked dead, rotting corpses of rodents, but if Jonathon noticed, he didn't say anything. She could tell that her brother didn't buy a word of all the lies she was saying, but he didn't question her. He just nodded before patting her knee reassuringly before taking a couple strides across her room to grab her wheelchair.

"Do you want this today or do you think you're strong enough to walk?" Jonathon asked, beckoning to the wheelchair which Clary had 'affectionately' given the name Louie. She pinched the bridge of her nose momentarily, thinking it over. She only used her wheelchair when she was obnoxiously tired. She didn't particularly _like _using it, considering it showed a sign of weakness, but Clary just halfheartedly reached out for it. Jonathon took it as a sign as he wheeled it over to his sister. With Jonathon's help, she stood up then sat into the wheelchair comfortably. He kissed her forehead before swooping up her blankets as he made her bed, his hands nimbly dancing over the sheets as he tidied up her bed, even fluffing the pillows while he was at it.

"No, Jon, you don't have to do that," Clary protested, watching her brother. A pang of guilt shot through her as she watched him. She was so weak that she couldn't even make her bed. The thought of Jonathon always having to do something for her made her angry and Clary involuntarily clenched her hands into fists, mentally cursing herself and even God for putting leukemia in her path. Everyone always said that challenges made your stronger, but Clary was feeling more weak than ever. She could barely walk, and Jonathon was always the one picking up her fragile life as she continued to drop the pieces all over the ground. Gulping, Clary's green eyes followed Jonathon's actions as he picked up the dirty laundry and put it into the hamper. She could attend to it later when she was feeling stronger. He just continued doing what he was doing, a soft smile gracing his face.

"I know," her brother replied with a shrug. "But I _want _to." He wanted to. The thought momentarily eased Clary to know that she wasn't a burden on her family. Her mother constantly told her that it was no trouble- that she and Jon liked taking care of her. But besides work, Jocelyn spent all her time taking care of her daughter. And Jonathon was always either at soccer practice or doing homework, so he was more than exhausted when he came home.

"I _want _to Clary," Jonathon said again, his voice containing a firmer, reassuring tone. That shut Clary up as she watched her brother tidy her room in silence. Finally, after a couple moments, he came back over to her and wheeled her out into the kitchen, avoiding boxes that might harm her.

After a few months of chemotherapy, the doctor decided a wheelchair might be good for Clary, but it was hard, considering they had their two story house to deal with. So that's when Jocelyn immediately packed their bags and they moved to a small, one story house that definitely wasn't as grand as their previous luxury, but it would do. They still weren't unpacked completely yet (hence the boxes), but they weren't planning on going anywhere soon, so why bother having everything out? The smell of something burning filled Clary's nostrils, and she fought the urge to gag as they made their way to the kitchen, the odoriferous smell growing stronger.

"Hey mom," Jonathon said brightly to their mother who was madly trying to unburn breakfast if that was even possible. Jocelyn Fairchild was madly turning over the pancakes again, groaning loudly when both sides were a strange, black color. She ran a hand through her long, red curls and sighed, turning to see her two children. A small smile tweaked at the corners of her lips.

"Hi kids…" Jocelyn walked around the table to get to her children, first kissing Jonathon on the cheek and hugging him then stopping to look down at her daughter, eyes shining with so much emotion that it made Clary almost cry. "Hi baby girl," she smiled, leaning down to wrap her arms around her daughter's frail body. Clary returned the hug, and Jocelyn pulled back with a sigh, her hands resting on Clary's shoulders. Her lips went to her daughter's nose and lingered there for a quiet moment before she pulled away again, staring at Clary as if this was the last time she would ever see her. Clary mustered a smile to her mother, taking in her features. A pang of jealousy coursed through her as she looked at her mother's beautiful face. Jocelyn had such an elegance to her that she turned heads wherever she went, and her dark red hair was wavy and soft, drifting towards the middle of her back. Her beautiful hair. After a couple rounds of chemotherapy, Clary lost all hers, but for now, it was growing back slightly. She had a pageboy haircut now. She ran her hair subconsciously through her mother's curls, a pang of jealousy running through her.

"Pretty," she said simply. Jocelyn sighed, jerking back slightly. Her deep green eyes were mixed with sadness and anger, and she reached over to tenderly stroke Clary's short hair, making her daughter look at her.

"Clary, honey. I told you we can get you a wig. It would look _just _like your long hair but—"

"No, Mom, really. I'm fine," Clary insisted, automatically wheeling her wheelchair just a couple inches back, and her brother gasped, taking a few steps back to brace himself against the wall, clutching onto his now ran over toes. "Oh, geez. I'm sorry Jon!" Clary turned apologetically to her brother who just held up a hand to stop her, breathing out through his nose.

"I-It's fine Clary," he said, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. Jonathon had a high tolerance for pain like Clary, but to have your toes squashed by a wheelchair on a daily basis was not the greatest experience in the world. A flash of guilt consumed Clary, and she quietly apologized again. Jocelyn looked nervously between her two children before she spoke up.

"I made pancakes."

"Not hungry." Their answers were simultaneous, and Jocelyn's face instantly fell, looking back over to the burnt pancakes.

"I'll have some a bit later Mom. Gotta take Clary outside for some fresh air," Jonathon said quickly, going over to his mom to give her a quick kiss before wheeling Clary outside, despite her protests. The sunlight hit her pale skin and she instinctively reached her hand up to block the sun.

"Too bright," she complained to herself, twisting her head around to stare at her brother who continued wheeling her down the street. He quirked her a small smile.

"It doesn't hurt to get some sunlight, Clare-Bear." They walked— well Jonathon walked— in silence, not saying anything but rather enjoying the other's presence. No words needed to be said. They were perfectly fine alone in their quiet, third space that they could appreciatively call their own. No one could come and intrude it but themselves.

"I know," Clary replied, her voice clipped. She toyed with the hem of her t-shirt before Jonathon made a quick loop with her wheelchair, making Clary almost fall out. A rush of panic and adrenaline swept through the girl, and she flailed her arms, trying not to fall. She let out a squeal as her brother turned her again sharply, and he just chuckled. "Jonathon!" she weakly swatted his arm. Clary's heart was beating ten to a dozen. She knew she probably shouldn't be rough-housing with her brother, but the feeling of sharp turns and thrill was just exhilarating. Clary liked it. She turned back to Jonathon, a warning look in her eyes. He grinned.

"You can do all sorts of tricks with this thing you lucky butt." He pouted, his lower lip slipping out from underneath his top. Clary bit back a sharp retort that she had in mind. _If you like it so much, I'd gladly trade places with you... _She struggled to control her terrible thoughts; Clary knew Jonathon was only trying to make her feel better, so she just smiled.

"Twirl me again?" she asked, looking up at her brother as she gave him a puppy dog look. He rolled his eyes, but a smile was drawn onto his face.

"Of course." And for the next ten minutes they twirled and laughed in the dim sunlight, basking in the warmth, and forgetting Clary was even sick in the first place.


	2. The boy next door

****I don't own the characters of The Mortal Instruments or plot line at all. I'm borrowing the characters and will return them safely. The story line of this fanfiction belongs to pluviophile 2013, and please do not recopy or take idea without asking.****

**.o.O.o.**

The quiet monotonous beeping of the telephone droned on and on, but Clary didn't bother to get up and do anything about it. She was sprawled on the couch in the living room, and her arm was lazily drawn across her stomach as she stared at the television, trying to get some entertainment out of the popular TV show _Wipeout. _She didn't really find it funny (okay, secretly she did, but she refused to admit it). It was a lazy day. Jocelyn had to work. Clary didn't mind having the house to herself with her both her family members gone, but Jocelyn was always fretting about leaving Clary alone. It was the one thing that they constantly argued about. Clary completely understood her mother's momma bear instinct, but it got annoying once in awhile and overbearing. She was fine. It wasn't like if she fell, she wouldn't be able to get up. Clary was capable of taking care of herself. Jocelyn always claimed she wasn't ready for Clary to 'leave the nest'. And it had taken a whole lot of begging and convincing and whining until Jocelyn finally _did _leave. And now, Clary sat curled up on the sofa with a blanket and _Wipeout. _The phone trilled again, making Clary groan as she threw her head back to the pillows. It was probably Jocelyn. _Again. _After awhile, the phone finally died down, leaving Clary in silence aside from the roaring TV. She sat quietly, enjoying the silence.

A knock on the doorbell jolted Clary from her brief state of peace. She hesitated, debating whether to answer or not. She sucked in a breath, heart pounding. The knock sounded again, loud in the dimly lit living room. Quietly, Clary forced herself up before slowly and painstakingly taking the trek to the front door. Her feet screamed at her to sit, and her head agreed, mainly by making her world spin. Quietly, Clary grasped onto the door frame, sucking in a big breath as she struggled to steady herself before opening the door.

In front of her was the most handsome, attractive boy she had ever seen in her life. A pair of sharp, gold eyes met her green ones steadily. The boy towered over her by a good couple inches or so. His facial features were sharp and defined, and he had gold hair that fell into his eyes, curling softly just behind his ears. He wore a tight t-shirt which showed off his chiseled chest, and Clary abashedly looked down, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. Here she was in a yellow t-shirt advertising a band she didn't even like and she wore jeans that sagged in weird places. She felt completely underdressed compared to him. He. Was. _Hot. _Was he an angel?

"I beg your pardon?" it only took a moment for Clary to realize she had just said her thoughts out loud (about, being an angel that is). She blushed furiously as she looked down, stuttering madly. She forced herself to look back up at him. There was a hint of smugness radiating off him, and a smirk was drawn onto his perfect face as he leaned against the doorway, waiting for her to respond. His eyes went up and down her as if he were looking over a geometry test, and Clary blushed furiously underneath his eyes before she forced herself to speak, her voice frighteningly small.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Oh, but you said it." His voice was smoking, low and dead sexy.

"There is such a thing called _lying. _Maybe you should look it up in the dictionary," Clary shot back, but the lie burned off her tongue. She was not denying that he was the most beautiful human she had ever encountered in her short sixteen years of life. Maybe he was an angel here to steal her away from earth and take her to heaven.

"Oh ho ho, aren't you feisty?" he leaned back, inspecting her quietly, gold eyes running up and down Clary's face. She blushed. She had nothing to offer him. She wasn't pretty, and she had definitely not 'filled in' yet. To top that, she had side effects from chemotherapy and looked like a normally proportioned person with a balloon for a head.

"What do you want?" Clary asked sharply, crossing her arms across her chest as she watched the boy carefully, arching an eyebrow at him. So arrogant and confident. Sometimes Clary wished she was able to carry herself with that amount of confidence he had. Right now, her insecurity and self esteem was rock bottom down at the dark depths of the ocean.

"Yeah, I'm the new neighbor. I just moved here with my family. I was wondering if you had any tape." Tape? Out of everything a neighbor needed, which usually consisted of perishables like food, he needed _tape_?

"Tape?" Clary echoed incredulously. The golden-haired boy's eyebrows seemed to disappear from underneath his bangs as he rose them at Clary.

"Do I need to say it again?"

"No, I heard you the first time. Just… just hang on." Clary turned on her heels and swept the house, trying to find tape. She couldn't find anything in these boxes. Panic swooped over her. Jocelyn had been using tape last night… maybe… she made her way over to the kitchen and searched madly in all the drawers, nearly chopping her fingers off as she opened and closed them. Her head was beginning to spin, making the world seem suddenly quiet and vivid and hurtful all at the same time. Clary hurriedly grasped the counter, her fingernails digging into the edge as she supported herself, breathing in and out slowly, yoga breaths as her mother called them, willing the world to calm down. Who cared if there was a cute boy watching her? She didn't want to _pass out_ on him. Finally, her vision cleared slightly, although her head was pounding. She searched one last drawer and sighed with relief as soon as she caught sight of the tape, sitting innocently in the drawer. She swooped it up and steadied herself against the hard counter then the wall. Making her way back to the boy with wobbly legs, Clary felt like jello. But it was worse. She was _exhausted._ She felt a bit disgusted with herself that she could barely walk from the kitchen to the front door, but it was a side effect of dying. Weakness and exhaustion.

"Here," Clary held out her arm weakly to the boy, silently begging him to take the tape. Her hand trembled with the effort of holding up, and she felt like she would collapse from exhaustion. Clary sucked in another breath, willing herself to breathe as she waited on Jace, the world beginning to spin faster than necessary. He arched a perfect eyebrow at her before taking the tape. But he just tossed it into his free hand before gripping her wrist. His grasp wasn't hard, but he squeezed slightly, making Clary stumble slightly as she supported most of her weight on the wall.

"Cold," he said, feeling her wrist. Yes, it was frighteningly cold. His hand felt warm on her skin, and she shuddered involuntarily. Clary's green eyes met his, and she bashfully pulled her hand away and hugged it to her chest.

"Um, I'm Clary."

"Jace."

"Is that short for something like Jonathon? Or is it just a tough name that you gave yourself, like some guys call themselves 'Snake' or 'Rock'?" Clary put one hand on her hip as she swayed, struggling to meet his eyes, but due to his height, maybe nine inches in difference, he just smirked at her, and she could only see up his nose.

"No, it's not short for anything," _Jace _replied, brushing off his shirt with a flick movement of his wrist. He eyeballed her suspiciously, and his scrutinizing eyes made Clary feel rather intimidated as she shrunk back slightly. "What's 'Clary' short for? Shorty?" A jolt of anger ran through her body as he said the infuriating pet name. She stomped her foot indignantly, a wave of rage shooting off through her body.

"_No_." Jace raised an eyebrow at her. "It's short for _Clarissa._" She put emphasis on her name, and Jace fought back a laugh as he looked at her. Frowning, Clary opened her mouth to say something else before he cut in yet again.

"It still doesn't change the fact that you're short… Shorty." Clary scoffed, no longer able to come up with a good comeback. She probably did look short at the moment with her all too long pair of flannel pajama pants. And to top it off, Clary had her strange pixie cut, which made her look like a faerie. Just her luck. Clary knew her face was a blazing red color from embarrassment, but she didn't say anything, just gave him a look.

"Look, _Jace_. I have to go," she replied, moving towards the door in hopes of closing it. Jace took a step back, a small smirk dancing on the corners of his lips.

"Hey, you're right. Maybe 'Shorty' isn't the right nickname for you." Clary felt Jace's eyes move over her again and again, and her legs felt like jello. His eyes were so… she couldn't even begin to fathom how they looked her over. Curiously and openly, like he wasn't afraid to be caught staring. "Maybe Merida."

"Merida?" Clary echoed, confused.

"Yes, you know, the princess from _Brave_?" Jace asked impatiently. "You're like a millennial Princess Merida." Clary silently wondered how even Jace knew about princesses. He didn't seem to be the type. Clary kept that thought to herself.

"No, I don't know."

"Wow. You should see it sometime. _Brave_."

"Umm, okay?"

"Right now."

Clary did a double take. "Excuse me?"

"You and me. Come on. I live like, fifty yards away from you." Clary was about to point out that his estimate wasn't exactly accurate, but she didn't say anything. A hot boy just asked her to watch a movie with him _at _his house within five minutes of meeting. Was this a joke? Clary pinched herself to make sure she was awake. A dull pain shot down the lengths of her arm as he clipped fingernails dug into the skin. Yep.

"I just met you." Clary peered outside the curtains to see the movers unpacking more stuff and hauling boxes from trucks. He just moved here and wanted to watch a movie with her what the heck.

"And?"

Clary was silent. Jace grinned relentlessly at her. She eyed him carefully, squinting slightly to take in the sight of him. The sun outlined his body and made his hair glow like a halo around the rest of him. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his jeans, and his gold flecked eyes watched her carefully. "Alright. Just let me put something on."

She didn't want to go out and look a mess, not that she didn't already. Her skin was a staggering pale color, and she looked like a ghost— a result from refusing to get sun. "You look fine. Come on." Jace beckoned towards her, and Clary slowly walked towards him, throwing on a pair of flip flops. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she gulped, not really believing that this was happening. No way. She let out a slow breath, a small smile coming across the side of her mouth before she followed Jace, pulling out her phone to text her mom.

"Hang on, gotta tell my mom where I'm going." She heard Jace mutter back something about how it was just next door, but she didn't pay any mind to him, trying to ignore him but it was rather hard, his unfamiliar mint scent coming off him in waves. She was uncertain about what her mother would have to say about the situation, and she frowned, biting her lip as she texted her.

_Going next door. ~C_

Her phone binged a couple seconds later.

_Be careful. ~Mom_

_ Oh, and Clary keep your phone on. I'll be checking on you soon. ~Mom_

_ Please keep the phone not on silent but vibrate so you can hear it. ~Mom_

_ I love you. ~Mom_

Clary smiled.


End file.
